


i finally worked it out, i worked it out

by nowayout



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship/Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowayout/pseuds/nowayout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Newt, is that – are you wearing my shirt?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i finally worked it out, i worked it out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kohichapeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kohichapeau/gifts).



> First and foremost this is a belated birthday present- KOHI!!! It was supposed to be a bday surprise but real life got in the way and I didn't manage to finish this on time, I'm really sorry :( I hope you'll still enjoy it though
> 
>  
> 
> Secondly, there was a lot of unnecessary touching in TST, which of course gave me tons of feels that could only be worked out through fic. Also, they wore the same goddamn shirt. I quit.
> 
> Title stolen from "Georgia" by Vance Joy.

 

“Newt, is that – are you wearing my shirt?”

 

The question becomes more and more unnecessary with every passing second that he spends staring at Newt intently, Thomas realizes, telling himself that maybe he should have asked _why_ instead. Then again, he’s never been one to think twice before acting or letting words jump out of his mouth.

 

Newt is indeed wearing the shirt Thomas had carelessly laid on one of the empty beds earlier that morning, next to the pile of clean clothes from which he picked the simple grey t-shirt that allured him with promises of flexibility and homely comfort. It looks different on Newt, kind of baggy, almost oversized, not as tight around his shoulders and chest as Thomas remembers it being on his own body. And yet, it looks right. There’s something inexplicably familiar about such a picture, like people sharing clothes even when they don’t fit, because they want to, because they choose to, is a memory Thomas never truly managed to forget completely, and he can’t help wondering if it has to do with what he’s lost, with his family or with his old self. If it is connected to his past in any way or if it is only an image stolen from a blurry dream. If it really is a memory or just a wish.

 

Newt frowns.

 

Newt frowns, looks down at himself, and that’s when Thomas figures out that asking him why he’s wearing the shirt wouldn’t have helped either. Newt frowns like he’s only now noticing what he has on, hands pulling hesitantly at the hem of the shirt, observing, examining, questioning reality with his fingertips.

 

Newt frowns because –

 

“Oh. I hadn’t realized it was yours.” He lifts his head and looks at Thomas, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. “Must’ve taken it by mistake, thought it was one of the clean ones. Should I. Uh. D’you want it back?”

 

Thomas shakes his head, torn between wanting to give in to the smile that tickles his lips and listening to the confusion that he knows is starting to show on his face, his eyebrows pulling together, an obvious question mark. It’s unusual, the way Newt straightens himself up and looks Thomas in the eye with a guarded expression that would seem almost cold if it weren’t for the light pink still present high on his cheeks. It’s strange because Newt has been an open book to Thomas so far and seeing him try to mask his emotions unsettles Thomas more than waking up in a rusty metal box surrounded by strangers and the lack of memories did. He doesn’t like it and he doesn’t even understand why.

 

He shrugs, ignoring the heart that’s beginning to race inside his ribcage. “No, it’s fine, I just thought –” He shrugs again, waving a hand at the shirt in vague gestures that not even he is sure are supposed to mean something. He tries to smile, but he’s too embarrassed by the lump in his throat and the rabbit heart he can’t explain. Still, he tries. “It’s just. You know. I wore it, so. It can’t smell clean anymore, right?”

 

Newt huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes good-naturedly and flashing Thomas a smile that reminds him exactly why Newt has been his – his something, his support, his hope, his safe place since everything started, a too kind, too caring boy who trusted Thomas and believed in him even when he had no reasons to.

 

“Of course,” Newt says, his playful grin filling Thomas up with warmth. “Because after three years in the Glade your smell on a shirt you’ve worn for a couple hours is the one I’d find the most unpleasant. Of course.”

 

Thomas doesn’t have a reply to that because his heart is doing somersaults, fluttering and flip-flopping, because Newt seems to want to wear his shirt, the one that still carries his shape and his scent, and maybe Thomas likes that. And these aren’t things he should be feeling but he does and it’s –

 

It’s a welcome distraction if nothing else. It stops him from worrying. About Teresa, about what Aris showed him, about the people who rescued them or maybe didn’t.

 

And it’s something else entirely, and Thomas hopes that one day he will get the chance to think about it, really think about it, without feeling guilty for craving a bit of normalcy in this way.

 

Newt’s hand on his shoulder brings Thomas back before he can get too lost inside his own head. “Come on,” he says, “the others must be wondering where we are.” There’s a gentle look in his eyes, willingly vulnerable and sweet and familiar, because Newt always seems to know when Thomas needs reassurance, knows how to offer it without making Thomas feel weak and useless.

 

And Thomas doesn’t know for sure, can only remember it from the shadows of faded memories that more often than not seem to be illusions instead of past experiences, but he thinks this is how it must feel to be lov–

 

He doesn’t know.

 

But the look in Newt’s eyes is enough, says enough; enough to make Thomas feel brave, enough to make him forget his doubts. So he grabs Newt’s wrist before the insecurities can return, touching the soft material of the shirt, touching Newt’s even softer skin. And it’s –

 

It’s almost funny. The way his stomach swoops, the feeling of running running running for miles, not stopping on the edge of a cliff, taking the leap. Free falling. It’s liberating, letting his fingertips admit everything his mouth can’t just yet.

 

Newt glances down, his smile widening a fraction. Carefully, like he’s still a little unsure but won’t let that stop him, he turns his hand and slowly lets his palm slide against Thomas’s. And Thomas doesn’t like to think about unspoken promises, doesn’t like to think about promises at all because now he knows some are bound to be broken and people always end up hurting or worse, but –

 

He wants to be selfishly hopeful for a moment.

 

He wants to believe that the delicate happiness he feels when he and Newt are in the lunch room, sitting side by side again with their remaining lost boys around them, could become permanent one day.

 

Under the table, Newt squeezes his hand. Somehow, that makes it easier to believe.

 


End file.
